


Wherever you stray, I follow

by Neuqe



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: 2x08 coda, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post 2x08, slight angst, they are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuqe/pseuds/Neuqe
Summary: “I’m glad it does,” he whispers back, into his hair, finally recognising the feeling raging inside of him, “because I didn’t do very good job keeping you safe.”TK snorts. “Just ‘cause you make me feel safe doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to actually keep me safe.”“I know,” Carlos breathes out, “I just cannot stop thinking if I had made a different kind of decision today, if I tried harder to come up with another solution, that this might not have happened.”
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 24
Kudos: 292





	Wherever you stray, I follow

**Author's Note:**

> 2x08 was a masterpiece and it destroyed me

Carlos stands up from the uncomfortable hospital chair, when TK raises his arm slightly, reaching for him. He is on his feet quicker than he thought possible, every muscle in his back aches and his feet feel just a little bit numb and sore from sleeping in the chair.

TK is smiling fondly at him when he reaches his bedside. The smile is small, but it definitely lights up his whole face. He still has the large bandage wrapped around his head and the dark circles below his eyes have not disappeared, but the smile he gives him still makes Carlos’ stomach flip.

He slides his hand easily into his and entangles their fingers together.

“I told you that sleeping in that chair wouldn’t be a good idea,” TK mumbles, softly, as he Carlos cranes his neck from side to side.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he replies, stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

Slept hadn’t come easily. He had been exhausted, but the doctors and nurses had kept coming in and out to check on TK, run more tests and take him to scans countless times during the night. On top of that, every time he closed his eyes, he could see stains of blood at back of the van and TK leaning against that table. His thoughts kept going around in circles.

The logical part of his brain knows that TK is safe and relatively okay, but it is easier to remind himself when he is in the direct line of sight.

They hadn’t been talking much during the night, it had been already late when he got admitted into the hospital, and TK had been pretty out of it at some point and he needed to rest. Carlos knows he could have gone home, but he didn’t have the heart to leave him alone. He couldn’t leave him, and he didn’t want to leave him, and TK seemed to appreciate his presence even if it was only soft and quiet reassurances that everything was going to be okay, and that they kept nodding off in the opposite corners of the tiny hospital room.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you just dropped me at my dad’s place and went to sleep,” TK continues, and the morning sunlight that floods in from the windows, gives a soft and warm glow to his face.

One of the doctors had come in, early in the morning, to tell that his scans had been clear and that they were ready to discharge him as soon as someone redressed his headwound and prepared the discharge papers. They gave them a thick pile of paper, full of instructions how to clean the wound and what to do if the symptoms of the concussion get worse.

The only condition for his discharge was that he has someone at home to look after him for the next couple of days. Carlos without any hesitation, replied that he can do it.

TK shot him a grateful look, but he didn’t say anything.

“Not going to happen,” Carlos replies. He squeezes his hand just a little tighter.

Earlier in their relationship, Carlos might have interpreted his words as a polite way of saying that he didn’t want to come over to his place, but now, he knows him better. He knows how to read him. TK is only giving him an out, if he needs it, but it has nothing to do with what he wants himself.

TK lets out a long exhale, and some of the tension seems to leave his body. His smile seems to be overflowing with relief as he grazes his lips against the back of Carlos’ hand. “I know you don’t have to—but thank you.”

“Of course.”

TK is still smiling at him, but he closes his eyes for a moment, and his expression turns more puzzled.

“I’ve got a weird question,” he eventually says.

“Shoot away.”

“Was your dad at the scene yesterday or did I get hit harder in the head than I thought?” His voice is light and teasing, but he can hear the real concern humming underneath all of it.

“He was.”

His face falls a little, and the uncertainness in his eyes becomes clearer.

“Oh. How did it go?”

“You’re in a hospital, you still have a concussion, you don’t have to worry about my relationship with my parents right now,” Carlos points out, sounding slightly amused.

“You don’t have to talk about it if it was—bad or makes you uncomfortable,” he starts, tentatively, and his eyes never leave his as he speaks, “but don’t you dare take a page out of my parents’ book and keep something away from me ‘cause you think it will protect me.”

Carlos is perfectly aware how much it had hurt TK to find out that they had been keeping the pregnancy as a secret, and then the break-up as a secret, and he would do anything in his power not to hurt him in the same way, even if Gwyn and Owen had good intentions behind their actions.

Besides, it is not at all what he is trying to do. He just wants to give him time and space to heal, he doesn’t want to burden him with the all the details of his horrible day immediately. It could wait until he feels better, but he should have known how persistent and stubborn TK can be.

“I’m not trying to keep anything away from you,” he reassures, resisting the urge to fix a strand of his hair away from the bandage, but he doesn’t dare to touch his forehead yet, “it was fine. It was his case.”

The realisation dawns on him quite quickly.

“Oh, so he—”

“He knows,” Carlos confirms softly. It feels good to say it aloud, and it definitely sparks some sort of happiness in his heart, “he dealt with it a lot better than he dealt with my suspension.”

For the whole day it felt like he didn’t talk to his dad at all, only to Texas Ranger Reyes. But in front of that ambulance, it felt like he had his dad by his side, and it had felt better than he could even describe.

TK nods slowly, but a smile is spreading on his face and he looks genuinely delighted for him. “Did you tell him or did he find out?”

There is no accusation in his voice, just curiosity and gentleness. Carlos realises that he is only asking because he wants to know if he got caught between the rock and hard place, if he was forced to tell or if it was his own decision.

“He has known since the farmers’ market,” he replies, and laughs little at TK’s surprised expression, “apparently we aren’t that subtle. And I guess the way I acted last night would’ve at least tipped him off.”

In comparison to almost losing him, everything felt pointless. Even pretending that TK would be nothing more than his friend. The thought really didn’t even cross his mind. He has never felt the same strength of relief as he did when he saw TK, alive, and when he was in his arms, hugging him back.

“Yeah, some details are little hazy, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t let go off you until they pushed me into the ambulance,” TK says, with a grin on his face.

“He wants to meet you. They both do. With proper introductions this time.”

He is willing to admit that maybe his instincts had been wrong about his parents. To be fair, there are a decade worth of hurt and repressed feelings there to cloud his judgement, but he cannot help but wonder how much easier it would have been if he had introduced him as his boyfriend from the get-go.

“I’d love to meet them. If you want to.”

Carlos just stares at him for a moment, perplexed. Even after their fight, TK has given him nothing but the impression that he wants to meet his parents, and Carlos was under the impression that he made clear that his reluctance had absolutely nothing to do with TK.

“Of course I want to,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “it was never about that.”

At no point he was embarrassed of him or at the thought of introducing him as his boyfriend. He loves him, and he knows he is lucky he loves him back just as much, and it would be an honor to introduce him to anyone as someone he loves.

“Yeah, I know,” TK rushes to say with a sigh, “it’s just—I’m happy it went well, but you didn’t get really to decide whether you were ready for it or not. And I promised I’d give you as long as you needed, and I’m just saying I’m still willing to keep that promise.”

Carlos’ heart is bursting and overflowing with love.

“That’s sweet, but I’m ready. I’ll drag you over for a dinner as soon as you feel up for it,” he says, his glance landing on the bandage again. “You were right though.”

“You have to be more specific; I’ve been right a lot of times.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, fondly. “When you said that nothing ever stays the same.”

The brightness of his grin is definitely competing against the brightness of the rising sun.

“Yeah, that can be a good thing, too.”

“Apparently,” Carlos agrees with a soft smile.

***

It’s a couple hours later when they finally arrive at his place. TK is able to walk on his own two feet, but it is a little slow and wobbly, but he patiently waits until he is inside until he closes the door.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice full of concern, when TK just stops in the middle of the living room and stares at nothing particular. He is offering his hand to him, to help him steady or ground him. TK takes his hand, almost immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just really glad to be back home,” he says, under his breath.

It is such a small and simple word, but Carlos immediately picks it up. It is the first time he has ever, even accidently, called his place home, and his heart soars. It makes him a lot happier than he could have thought.

For TK, it takes a couple seconds longer to realise what he said. He grimaces and lets out a small groan before he turns slightly around, to burrow his face against Carlos’ shoulder.

“Babe, I’ve a concussion,” he says, still mostly against his sweater, “I’m allowed to say dumb stuff.”

Carlos laughs, carefully placing a kiss on his hair. “That’s definitely a conversation we should have when you’re not concussed, but it’s not dumb. It’s yours, as much as it is mine.”

TK’s breath sounds only slightly shaky before he chuckles. “That better mean what I think it means.”

“It does,” he reassures, without missing a beat, as he gently strokes his back.

Wanting him to move in isn’t exactly a foreign concept for Carlos. He has pondered it for a while now, trying to figure out what would be the best way and time to ask, and if it is even something TK wants to do. If things had gone according to the plan, he isn’t sure he wouldn’t have blurted it over the dinner, but almost losing him made the urge to ask him even stronger.

He still holds his hand when TK takes a seat near the kitchen island, even though Carlos is pretty convinced he could do it without his help, too.

He gives him a bottle of water out of the fridge and TK takes a few big gulps of it. He still has the fridge door open. “What do you want to eat?”

“I love the formation of that question,” TK laughs, and Carlos bites down a smile as he still rummages through the fridge. He is aware that TK still isn’t completely okay, and that appetite might be something that doesn’t reappear immediately, but the hospital instructions did state that he should eat something.

Not giving him too much jiggle room with his answers reminds him of his abuela who was really fond of the saying that it is hard to make wrong choices if you have no alternatives.

“When was the last time you ate?” He asks, screwing the water bottle cap shut, and giving him a pointed look.

“I don’t know,” Carlos admits in a huff, as he stares at the pot full of the sauce that he had prepared yesterday. “Your dad made me a smoothie earlier.”

They missed the dinner, and eating wasn’t at the top of his priority list when trying to find the missing paramedic team. 

“Great answer, and those monstrosities do not count,” TK deadpans, but his face softens as Carlos glances at him, “I’ll eat something, if you eat too.”

The smoothie tasted awful, bitter and strong, but he didn’t have the heart to tell his boyfriend’s dad that it was terrible, especially when he was trying to make him feel better.

“Deal, and we do have an entire dinner in the fridge,” Carlos tells him, as he starts to pull the dishes that he hurriedly dumped into the fridge yesterday. He places them on the kitchen island in front of him, and takes out a couple of plates from the cupboard.

He knows there is a ridiculous amount of food for two, and placing it all out takes some time, but he only realises that TK has fallen silent when he intensively keeps staring at the large bowl of salad in front of him.

“I can cook something else if you don’t feel like eating this,” he tells him, gently, as he gestures the cold dinner.

TK just shakes his head. He reaches across the island to grab his wrist. He holds it gently, but Carlos is still a little puzzled by the touch and his confusion only grows when he sees the concern shining in TK’s eyes.

“Tell me about the suspension at some point, okay?”

It is possibly the last thing he expected him to say. Somehow, through the haze of being pistol whipped and bleeding from his head, TK had realised in the middle of the ambulance ride that he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Carlos knew he had enough on his plate as it was, so he only offered as an explanation that he was suspended, and it was a long story.

He didn’t want to burden him with the details of it in the ambulance. That he was suspended, off-duty and going against direct orders by leading a rogue rescue party.

He wasn’t even sure TK would remember it afterwards, but the strength of the earnestness on his face is almost staggering.

“Okay,” he promises.

TK nods, but he doesn’t let go of his wrist. “Because this,” he continues, gesturing towards the multiple dishes and pots, “is wonderful and I’m so sorry for missing the dinner, but this absolutely is a stress reaction. You could feed a small army with this amount of food.”

He is right. His words are accurate enough, it makes him feel strangely seen, as if TK could see right through him, into deepest parts of him.

He felt restless and anxious after the suspension and the whole conversation with his dad. It felt horrible to second-guess his instincts and gut-feeling, because both of them are something he has relied on for his whole career. Knowing that he had been right about the sincerity of the man’s fear had made him feel slightly better about the whole situation, but his dad’s reaction made it worse again, and he wondered why he ever even hoped a different outcome.

He didn’t want to dwell on any of it, not on the emotional turmoil that it stirred up or any of the memories that kept bubbling back into the surface.

He needed something to do. He needed to see TK, because no matter what happened earlier, he knew he would be able to make it better. That is why he went straight to the firehouse in the first place when he was let go at the station.

He felt awful and he knew TK could ease his burden just a little bit by being there and seeing his smile. He just needed to know that someone was still in his corner and would actually listen to him. He isn’t sure when it happened, but he has become a sort of safe haven for him. It has brought comfort to him, knowing that even if everything else around him crumbles down, he still has him.

He reasoned with himself that if he couldn’t be good enough at being a cop, he could still be good at being a boyfriend, and cooking relaxed him and gave him something else to think about until he realised that TK wasn’t coming.

“You’re right,” he admits, quietly.

TK hums sympathetically. “It looks really good, but rain check on the actual dinner, though? I feel like you didn’t originally intend this spaghetti be eaten as reheated breakfast.”

“It’s lunch time somewhere,” he deadpans.

He microwaves their food, and they eat in relative silence, the only disruption to it are when TK compliments the food, and they definitely eat slowly, but he doesn’t mind at all. There is no hurry to anywhere, and to be honest, he appreciates a moment of quietness and peacefulness after the day they have had.

He starts to clean up when they are finished, piling the plates into the sink and putting the leftovers back to the fridge, but TK slouches against the kitchen island and he manages to look smaller than just moments before and it breaks Carlos’ heart.

He knows TK got off lucky with the injuries, a mild concussion and a nasty headwound that was still easily stitched, but that doesn’t mean something else hasn’t broken inside of him. Carlos is certain the physical injuries will heal long before until the invisible ones even start to heal.

He wants to ask him if he is okay, but he has already asked it more times than he can count and he feels stupid every time he asks it, because there is no proper answer for it.

Instead, he walks around the kitchen island and he just gently places his hand on his shoulder.

“I—it’s hard to believe it’s over,” TK mutters, putting his face into his hands.

“I get it.”

Traumatic experiences have the funny habit of creeping up on a person usually after the event, and in TK’s case, his brain probably has been too jumbled up by the concussion to even properly process any of it yet. Hell, even Carlos occasionally gets the feeling that if he looks away from him, he might disappear.

TK turns around in his seat and wraps his arms around him so swiftly, he lets out a small and surprised _ooph_ before returning the hug.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, against his shirt.

“Hey, no. Anything you need,” he whispers back, rubbing the space between his shoulder blades soothingly.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, he just knows that he might need the hug as much as TK does. Having him in his arms is a concrete proof that he is alive and safe, and that he did the right thing by trusting his gut.

It eases the guilt just a little bit.

“Are you still suspended?”

Carlos knows immediately what he is trying to ask. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”

The suspension shouldn’t last long, and he had, in the middle of the night, when they had taken TK to his first CT scan, contacted his captain and told that he needs probably at least a few day-offs on top of that.

The captain granted him the day offs, and he didn’t really expected any other result. Not because the captain would be particularly fond of him, but in their line of work it is important to be able to fully focus on the job, and focusing becomes increasingly difficult when a loved one is ill or in danger. The day-offs come voluntarily or involuntarily, and he knows some cops jokingly call it being spouse benched.

“Good, I mean not good—it’s just that,” TK starts to ramble, quickly, and his rambling is accompanied by frustrated sigh, “I know it’s dumb, but I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

“It’s not dumb,” he reassures, pressing yet another kiss on top of his head, “and I don’t want to leave you, either.”

He lets TK be the one who eventually pulls away from the hug, and he does so after a few moments. When he pulls away, Carlos spots a stain of dried blood near the collar of TK’s shirt.

In hindsight, maybe changing the clothes should have been the first thing to do since arriving to his place because TK didn’t have anything else to change into at the hospital except his gear pants and the t-shirt he had been wearing under his uniform.

TK follows his gaze, and his face scrunches up as he spots the stain, too. “Charming.”

“Do you think you can get up the stairs?” Carlos asks.

The stairs are not particularly steep, and he wasn’t ordered into bedrest, but somehow the combination of stairs and concussion doesn’t seem too good in his mind. Yet, this isn’t the first time he has dealt with hurt TK, and he knows he will drive him up the wall if he doesn’t at least offer him the chance to do something by himself or without help.

“No.”

He gives him a small smile. He is perfectly aware that it is difficult for him to admit if he isn’t able to do something or ask for help. Carlos considers it to be a small victory that he admitted it so casually this time.

“That’s okay. I will bring you some clothes.”

He nods, rubbing his own face with his palm. He still looks exhausted, but he looks a lot better than last night. He isn’t as pale anymore, but he can tell he is still in pain. The discomfort is visible in his eyes and the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his jaw.

He wishes he could take at least some of that pain away from him.

“Carlos?” TK calls out to him, when he is already halfway up the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Can--,” he starts, but he lets out of a soft sigh as his voice trail offs, “can you bring me something of yours?”

Carlos’ heart clenches at his request, but also because his voice seems so small, but it is still full of tenderness and warmth.

“Of course,” he replies, before heading to the bedroom.

He grabs TK’s own sweatpants from the drawer that he has taken up to be his own and filled with clothes. Out of his own closet, he takes a pair of woolly socks and dark blue sweatshirt. It’s old and nothing special, but it is the softest piece of clothing he owns, and it is probably too big for TK, but it seems like the best choice.

He picks up one of the pillows from the bed and a grey blanket. He almost heads to downstairs already, but he stops at the bathroom’s door and for the good measure he grabs the bottle of bruise cream with him.

TK has already moved to the couch and he has closed his eyes, but he opens them slowly when he hears him coming down. He shoots him an amused glance when he drops everything that he had been carrying next to him on the couch.

He hands the small bottle of the bruise cream to him. “If you want.”

Carlos had been under the impression that his head wound was the only injury he suffered, but when they had taken him to x-ray at the hospital, TK had explained, way too casually for his liking, that he bruised his right side when he had collapsed to the floor because of the pistol whipping.

He has no broken ribs, but Carlos did caught a glimpse of the dark purple bruise that was forming along his side.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” TK murmurs as he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

The bruise is even brighter than before, but it is not too large. Still, Carlos feels almost sick to the stomach as he thinks about the strength with what he has hit his body to the floor and how that small space above his hipbone has taken the brunt of it.

TK has already managed to open the bottle, but he looks a bit nauseated as he glances down at the fresh bruise.

Carlos sits next to him on the couch and tentatively wraps his fingers around the bottle in TK’s hand. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” he replies, quickly, “thank you.”

He takes the bottle and squeezes some of the cream in the middle of his palm. He lets it warm up a little in the middle of his hand instead of applying it immediately to his skin.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says, before dipping his index and middle finger into the cream and placing his fingertips in the middle of his bruise. The touch is so light he isn’t even sure if he is actually touching his skin or if his fingertips are hovering just above it.

He applies the cream in small and round movements, trying to cover every part of the bruise, but he purposefully moves slowly, so he has a chance to say if something feels uncomfortable or hurts.

TK’s breathing sounds even and he doesn’t wince out of pain as he moves to a different spot, so he considers it as a success.

“This has to be a guaranteed way to kill the romance,” TK deadpans at some point, but the huff he lets out sounds amused.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he says, scooping the remaining of the cream off his palm, “but it’d require a lot more than a bruise and a hole on your head to make me feel any differently about you.”

All of his wounds are ugly reminders of what happened, but at the same time, they manage to be reminders that he survived.

TK brushes the edge of his bandage on his forehead. “I’ll probably get another scar from this.”

“Probably,” he agrees, as he wipes the last bits of the cream against his skin.

“At least it is not a gunshot wound,” he jokes with a weak laugh.

He closes the bottle and places it on the coffee table. “Yeah, because you’ve got already one too many of those,” Carlos says, gently brushing his finger against the scar on his chest.

“I agree.”

TK takes off his pants, and Carlos hands him the pair of sweatpants and socks. He looks fondly at the pair of socks, but he stays silent. A tiny, but delighted smile appears on his face though, when he gives him his sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt undeniably is too big for him on the shoulders, making it a hang little on him, and he is easily able to pull his hands inside the sleeves.

TK wears his clothes, occasionally. It’s never a bad sight and he cannot explain what it is about seeing him in his old academy t-shirts or hoodies, but without a fail it fills his heart with such a warm happiness. It is the level of intimacy that gets to him the most. That he casually wants to share that part of their lives, too, and that he wants him around and close enough to wear something of his to remind of him.

This time, TK seems happier than usually about his sweater, and he is squeezing the edges of the sleeves in his fists. He seems to notice his staring and he sits next to him. He doesn’t leave an inch of space in between their legs, and presses his own thigh against his and he rests his head against his shoulder.

“It makes me feel safe,” he whispers.

Carlos is certain his heart is going to burst with an emotion he cannot quite name. It’s raw and it burns bright in his chest, and it is so overwhelming, and it threatens to mix with the love he usually feels when TK confesses something like it to him.

He pushes the pillow and blanket to the floor and moves to the far corner of the couch. He swings his legs on the couch, too, and spreads them, before gesturing TK to move, too. He easily settles himself in between his legs, leaning into his chest with his full weight. Carlos loosely wraps his arms around him, too.

“I’m glad it does,” he whispers back, into his hair, finally recognising the feeling raging inside of him, “because I didn’t do very good job keeping you safe.”

TK snorts. “Just ‘cause you make me feel safe doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility to actually keep me safe.”

“I know,” Carlos breathes out, “I just cannot stop thinking if I had made a different kind of decision today, if I tried harder to come up with another solution, that this might not have happened.”

He explains about the bank robbery, the man on the run and his make-shift bomb. He gets to the part where he decided to let him go, much to the dismay of his partner, when TK interrupts his explanation.

“It sounds to me that you made the best decision you could in a crappy situation,” TK says, eventually, kindly as his hand finds his again. He intertwines their fingers and lets their clasped-together hands rest against Carlos’ leg.

It stirs something in him, to know that TK immediately agrees and supports the decision that everyone else couldn’t quickly enough question and doubt.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess, and I was right. He was forced to do it.”

TK hums, quietly and approvingly. “But you got suspended because of it?”

“Yeah,” Carlos confirms with a joyless laughter, “I did let the prime suspect of a bank robbery walk free with the stolen money without immediately following him.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a good person.”

TK doesn’t miss a beat with his reply, and he sounds sincere as he says it, as if it were a given fact and common knowledge.

Carlos’ places his lips on his neck, just to the edge of his hairline. “The people who forced him to do it were the ones that kidnapped you.”

He isn’t sure what he expects his reaction to be, but TK just sits still, still rubbing his hand with his thumb. Almost comfortingly.

“Oh.”

“Maybe if—if I had asked more questions or if we’d have organized a tailing operation immediately, we could have caught them earlier.”

His mind focused on that particular thought when he kept nodding off in the hospital chair, only to be waken when his head flopped down. It was hard to shake off those thoughts when all he could see was TK lying in the hospital bed in the dimly lit room. Again.

The anxiety he had felt when waiting for hours in that interrogation room for someone to turn up returned in a milder but still stomach-twisting way in those odd hours of the night. In the interrogation room he had feared the worst, that his decision ended up hurting people, but in the hospital room it was been different.

He knows TK and rest of the medic team didn’t get kidnapped because of his decision to let the man go, but the nagging feeling of that he could have done more to prevent it haunts his thoughts.

Carlos is perfectly aware that he could never do either of TK’s jobs. He knows they are both driven by their desire to help others, but the main reason he ever even considered to become a cop was his desire to protect people. Prevent the worst from happening and keeping others safe, or at least make the situation safer or deal with the aftermath.

TK, as a firefighter and especially as a paramedic, helps people when the worst has already happened. Pulling people into safety from the middle of crisis or bringing them back to life from the brink of the death. He knows that in the eyes of 126 the whole kidnapping fiasco ended as well as a call could. None of them died or suffered life-alternating injuries, and they considered it a success.

For Carlos, protecting inherently means preventing bad things from even happening in the first place. Preventing the worst from occurring. So, while he is more relieved that he could ever say that they all survived, he cannot see it as a complete success. 

“Bearing in mind that I’ve a concussion, even I can see that makes no sense,” TK starts, but his voice is gentle and light, “You cannot predict the future. You had no way of knowing what would happen. So, in no way it was your fault.”

In a way, Carlos knows it. He knew the amount of uncertainty that waited him when he said that whatever happens would be on him. He knows his instincts were right, and he was out of options, but his guilt knows no logic.

He isn’t even sure if it is pure guilt. More guilt entangled to feeling of responsibility and wanting and thriving to prove that he can do his job. That he is good at it. That he is able to protect people, very least the people he loves.

“You got hurt,” Carlos argues, little defeatedly, in a whisper against his neck.

If he leaves out all the turmoil of the suspension and his dad investigating him, that it all it boils down to. Really.

That he is able to love someone so much, with everything he has, and that he might have been, hypothetically, able to prevent him from getting hurt. It’s ridiculous to think about it that way, but somehow, he cannot just simply stop merely because he knows it is illogical.

“I got hurt because I tried to trigger the fire alarm,” TK argues back, and even though he cannot see his face, it sounds like he would be smiling.

Obviously he feared the worst when they realised that the paramedic team had been kidnapped. He would have feared the worst even if he didn’t know them personally, but knowing how stubborn Nancy, Tommy and TK could be made that fear a little worse. And little better.

He knows they are all brilliant and brave people and that they are able to hold on their own, and that they wouldn’t go down without a fight. Which also meant that each and every one of them would be willing to risk their lives to protect the others.

Carlos still considers it to be a small miracle that none of them got shot just because they were being stubborn and hell-bent on talking back when held at gunpoint. 

“Of course you did,” he murmurs, sounding almost fond to his own ears, too.

TK shifts around a little, but he does press a kiss on the back of his palm. “It’s the curse and blessing of this job that you never know what’s going to happen when you answer a call. Sometimes it’s really great. Sometimes it’s a bad call. None of us can control it.”

“Yeah.”

It would be a lot easier if there was some predictability. It would be easier to deal with, but the world is unpredictable and uncontrollable. He has always known it, but it is a lot more difficult to come to terms with when he feels like a part of his heart lives outside of him in TK, who seems to attract danger like an actual magnet.

“The life is full of what ifs. If hadn’t become a paramedic I’d have not ended up there. If the dispatch sent another rig there, I’d have not been there. It’s impossible to place the blame on just on what if, and it’s also unnecessary.”

TK shrugs a little as he says it, elbowing him slightly into thigh.

“I know. I’ll get over it, eventually,” he promises.

It’s the unwritten rule of being a first responder. Not to get caught in the spiral of what ifs. Nothing good comes out of it, and he knows it, but it’s harder this time, because it hits so close to home. With time, he knows he is able to see it clearer.

Now, it’s almost like a stress eruption reaction. He needs to deal with everything that has happened, but now it is just all of the bottled-up fear and insecurities entangling together and it is forming into the only coherent thought he knows to have when life seems to turn upside down.

How to be better. How to do better.

“I’ll help,” TK promises back, quietly but sincerely.

He smiles and presses an actual kiss against his neck.

“I know it wasn’t my fault, it just feels that I could have done more,” Carlos admits, trying to clarify what he is feeling. 

It seemed to be the theme of the day. His captain and partner thought he could have done more. His dad thought he could have done more.

TK turns his head as much as he is able and shoots him truly puzzled look. “More?” He echoes, disbelief in his voice. “I say this with all the love in the world, but you might be the most over-achieving person I know.”

Carlos lets out a small chuckle. It doesn’t quite sound like a genuine one, but it’s almost there.

“You saved a man’s life. You figured out that we were missing. You found out where we were. You slept on that horrible chair at the hospital just because I didn’t want to be alone, and now you’re here, still taking care of me, even when you had a day from hell.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling a little loss for words.

He knows that counts for something. That instead of protecting and preventing he could at least attempt to do some saving and supporting. It brings some sort of comfort.

TK sighs, and it sounds little defeated, but there is an edge of softness to it, too.

“You did enough. More than enough,” he tells him, with an impossibly soft voice, as he kisses his knuckles and wrist. “You know, you did make me feel safe, earlier too.”

“I’m pretty sure that was all Nancy, Tommy and your dad.”

Everything was chaotic when they arrived at the restaurant, but it definitely was a team effort to take the robbers down.

“They were badass, but I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about when it was just us and the kidnappers. I felt safe because I trusted you.”

“What?”

“When I realised that I’d miss the dinner, I trusted that you would know that I wouldn’t have just stood you up without no explanation and that you’d most likely look for me,” he tells him.

The worry had crept up on him quickly. Not because he wouldn’t have trusted TK to take care of himself, but because he always lets him know if he is running late. When all of his texts went unanswered, he knew something was off.

“I’d have turned entire Texas upside down,” he murmurs.

He is glad that they managed to find them as quickly as they did, even if every minute had felt like an eternity when he didn’t know where he was or if he was hurt. He doesn’t like to think what he would have done if it had dragged on for days.

TK is quiet, but he moves his left hand and soon he is cradling Carlos’ hand with both of his hands. Keeping it in the middle of them, but he strokes random points of his hand with his fingertips.

“Good to know that rest of the 49 states would’ve been out of the question,” TK deadpans.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he answers, making it sound almost effortless. “I trusted that you would know how much that damn chip means to me, that I’d not just drop it at some desolated parking lot.”

With a jolt, Carlos realises that he still has the chip in his pocket. He reaches for it and hands it back to TK. The chip rests on his palm, reflecting the light of the lamps, and it looks so bright. TK lets go of his hand, picks it up, carefully, and closes it inside his fist.

“Nice move, by the way.”

Finding the chip was terrible because it was the last piece of confirmation they needed to know that the 126’s paramedic team had truly disappeared, like into the thin air, but it had filled him with some sort of pride, too, as he realised that TK had left them a clue to follow.

“Thank you. I knew you would be able to figure out we were at Charles’ restaurant. And that eventually you or somebody would find us because of it.”

“That’s a lot of trust,” he mutters, because it feels like his breath is hitching in his throat.

TK seems to hear it, because he places his hand on his knee. His touch is gentle, and it feels warm, as he squeezes it slightly.

“Hmh, it is. But I was right. You’re one of the smartest people I know and you’re damn good at your job, so none of that trust was unwarranted,” TK remarks, sounding almost proud and pleased.

Carlos doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if they had arrived later or if he had missed or misunderstood one of the clues. If he wouldn’t have been worth of that trust.

TK starts to fidget with his fingers. Pinching the fabric of his sweatpants in between his thumb and index finger. He keeps fidgeting with the chip until he shoves it to the pocket of his pants.

Carlos knows there is something else TK wants to say, but he needs to gather his thoughts first. To give himself a minute to think.

“So, yeah, trusting you gave me comfort,” he starts, but the tone of his voice changes a little. “But there was a point when I hoped it wouldn’t be you who was looking for us. That it would be some other officer in case—in case I wouldn’t have made it.”

The silence that follows is almost deafening.

TK’s breath sounds a bit shaky when he continues. “I didn’t want you to find me if that happened. I couldn’t have forgiven myself if the last thing I ever did was to put you through that.”

TK’s fidgeting fingers have stopped, but now he curls them around his right wrist. He raises Carlos’ arm slowly, bringing it closer and against to his own chest and just holds it there, as if embracing it there. Carlos can feel TK’s heartbeat against his fingers.

Carlos feels the bile rising up in his throat as he even thinks about the possibility of finding him, but finding him dead. He doesn’t want to think about it any longer than he has to, but it absolutely shatters his heart to hear that it is something he sacrificed thoughts into, especially when suffering a concussion.

In the middle of recoiling from the thought, he feels strangely loved and cared for. That even in the middle of danger, even when it absolutely wasn’t necessary, TK managed to think about him, and the ways to protect him.

“I—didn’t know it was that bad,” he says aloud.

In the end, TK’s injuries weren’t as severe as they could have been, but they must have felt a lot worse if he ended up thinking about dying.

“You know, headwounds,” TK says, a little sadly, “they bleed like nobody’s business and at one point, it was pretty hard to stay awake, and it was terrifying ‘cause I know that’s never a good sign.”

Carlos is still little loss for words. Instead, he just holds him a little tighter. “You’re safe now. I got you,” he whispers.

“I know,” he whispers and lets out the saddest attempt of laughter he has ever heard. It is meek and hollow. “For the third time within a year, I thought I might die. I cannot say it’d get any easier.”

TK tries to keep his voice light, but Carlos can hear how it cracks occasionally, and that there is a lot more pain and grief behind those words that they can possibly cover in one day. Right now, he just wants to pull him back from the edge of that bottomless grief.

“I might go grey by the time I hit thirty if you keep that pace up,” he jokes, softly. “I naïvely had this thought that you might not get hurt as much now that you’re a paramedic. You’ve proven me so wrong,” Carlos says, with an attempted laughter.

TK’s breathing sounds uneven, but some of the tension seems to leave his body as he exhales.

“That or you’ll develop a stomach ulcer,” he jokes back, but he pauses for a moment, sounding more serious when he continues. “I hope that it doesn’t become too much, that I’m worth of all that worry.”

Carlos knows where that fear stems from. He has heard countless times from his colleagues and other first responders how the stress of a loved one getting hurt has become too much for the significant other to handle and it has led to a break-up.

He doesn’t know the specifics of Owen and Gwyn’s divorce, but in his understanding the strain of Owen’s job played a role in it.

“You’re worth it,” he reassures, “with our jobs, worry is going to be a permanent part of our relationship. I’d prefer if you stayed safe and unharmed, but I’ll never hold it against you if you get hurt. No amount of near-death experiences or nights slept in hospital chairs would make me love you any less.”

During the course of their relationship, he has managed to stay relatively safe during work. Only some bruises and sprained ankles, but he knows that with the dangers of his job, he has the potential to cause at least as many grey hairs to TK as he will probably cause to him.

“Yeah, you too. I mean you’re better at this whole avoiding danger thing than I am, but still.”

He chuckles and silence follows, but it is serene and comfortable silence. The type of silence they usually share, but Carlos still decides to break it.

“I know I’ve sounded like a broken record lately, but I’m proud of you,” he says, reaching a little to kiss his temple.

“It doesn’t exactly hurt to hear it,” he laughs warmly. “And I’m proud of you, too.”

It tugs something in the corner of his heart. He knows he wants to talk about the suspension more at some point. The way it made him feel when they just left him in the interrogation room after striping him off his badge and gun. But he doesn’t want to share it right now.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asks, instead, because TK is clenching his jaw again.

“Not a lot,” he replies with a vague wave of his hand. “Little, but it’s dull ache.”

“Can I do something?”

“Pretty sure this is already the best thing,” TK murmurs, hugging his arm a little closer to his chest.

The corner of Carlos’ mouth twitches into a smile. He places his thumb against the base of his skull and rubs it gently.

“Is this okay?”

He knows TK’s pain is a lot more than a regular headache and there is very little either one of them can do about it, but he wants to take at least some of the tension away. Help in any way he can.

“Yeah,” TK breathes out, almost shivering under his touch, “that feels actually really nice.”

He hums as a response, but he keeps slowly massaging his tense neck muscles. He glances down at the floor where the pillow and blanket still lie in an untidy bundle.

“Do you want a pillow?”

“No, you’re a good enough of a pillow,” TK chuckles.

“Good to know that is all I am to you, a human pillow,” he deadpans, but places a kiss to top of his head. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’ve everything I need right here,” he confesses, after a couple of moments, and something just melts in Carlos’ chest.

“Me too.”

It feels like the absolute truth after everything that went down.

“There is one thing you could do,” TK continues, with the same light and teasing tone, and he knows it cannot be anything too serious he is about to ask.

“Anything.”

That also feels like the absolute truth. No matter how serious his request would be.

TK laughs, and it’s free and quiet laughter, and it fills every inch of his heart. “I take that as a promise. But stop being so hard on yourself. I love you too much just to watch you agonize over something you had no control over.”

“I’ll try.”

TK turns his head slightly, but he never lets his fingers to leave the base of his skull. TK plants a kiss on his jawline. It’s a little clumsy, but it still makes his stomach flip.

“Good.”

And in that moment, he believes they will be just fine. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda got out of hand at some point, but I hope you liked it. All the mistakes are mine, and the title is borrowed from a song called willow by taylor swift.


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